People love me.
I don’t know why. I truly don’t. I’m funny, smart, amusing, unique, wise, I listen, and I care about people a hell of a lot, but I don’t do any of those things in any particular combination or to any particular extreme that would earn the kind of love that people seem to have for me.
(I’d list all my flaws, but bah! I don’t care about those and neither should you 🙂
When I left Australia– and I swear I’m going to stop starting sentences like that–, I said goodbye to way too many awesome people who I loved and who– I can only assume from their behaviour– barely tolerated to outright loved me.
Coming back to the United States, I’ve heard more than a dozen I missed yous and my days have been packed just trying to catch up with all the people I’d forgotten I cared about.
Hm.
And here I was thinking that I was only coming back to a handful of [label missing]s.
Boy, I feel like an ass.
What I’m thinking is that I’m like the Da Vinci Code. In other words: I’m entertaining enough, but not to any particular extreme. It just so happens that in my niche, I have wide appeal and that translates to a fanatic fanbase.
(Hey, referring to my friends as my fans makes me feel slightly better about my writing… in much the same way referring to my fans as my friends makes me feel slightly worse about my social skills.)
To put it another way: my [label missing] Steve once mentioned how some scientists somewhere once (it’s believable because it’s third person, vague, from a supposed authority, and unfalsifiable. You can’t lose!) decided to create the average woman. So they took hundreds of photographs and used a computer to mix them all into a woman with an average nose, average eyes, average skin tone, average ears, and an average adam’s apple.
What was the result? A hot woman.
Or so says my [label missing] Steve.
I believe it because it’s intuitively sound. Also, because it’s less work for me.
What was I saying? Good gosh, I know there was a point. And thinking about a perfect 5 being a perfect 10 isn’t going to get me any closer to it.
Oh, Yes: I’m well-loved if not popular. And I’m loved by the absolute best people in the world.
I have no idea how this happened and I have no idea how I constantly attract the coolest people in existence, but I do. I suppose the 2% just flock together.
You’ll note how I don’t mention that drunk people always seem to find me insanely fascinating.. In my mind that’s a separate issue altogether.
You don’t believe me? Bah, for shame. Well just because of that, I’m not your anymore. Instead, I’m only going to be a .
P.S. I saw it on a Documentary with John Cleese, which means it MUST be trustworthy. Tune in next week for how I turned to Scientology thanks to Tom Cruise. After all, Celebrities have HUGE heads on the movie screens, so obviously they have huge brains.
yeah, we love you! And Pix, I think you’re the only person a certain, slightly goth friend of ours would wear a pink (*pink!*) dress to see you return to Australia… You’ve got to come, if only to see that!
Your arogance disusts me. . . And yet, I suddenly love you. Brilliant.
Yes, and Seth, if you would only take advantage of that (*cough*cough*fake*cough*cough*) scenario you could have a very good time over the weekends.
Aeger himself has yet to find his niche, perhaps you know what it is?
Funny, I’m in the same situation. My Oomph is skyrocketing, yet I’m still not as fond of me as most of my friends.
…Therefore, we must be psychic twins.
Steve,
I’m crying on the inside. On the outside I’m laughing… at you.
Alacaeriel,
I’ll only go if you can guarantee Pepto-Bismol pink. If it’s a pastel, I’m getting back on the plane.
Seth,
I knew you were going to say we were psychic twins. How freaky is that?
Aeger,
Your face disgusts me! And your niche is by yourself! Ooh, burn!!